


Masked Obsessors

by Noid



Category: Halloween Movies - All Media Types, The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Bloodplay, Choking, Fight Sex, Grinding, Hair Pulling, Knifeplay, Lots of plot, M/M, Masturbation, Porn? with plot, big plot, blowjob, i did this in one day, lemme know if there are any typos please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 06:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18910996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noid/pseuds/Noid
Summary: On the night before Halloween, a madman leaves the asylum of Smith's Grove. Brahms follows him out only to find the girl he is preying on. He won't let him have her so easily and intends on standing in the way.The path to the obsession has been barricaded and made anew.





	Masked Obsessors

**Author's Note:**

> I made a slightly younger Myers, oops. Probably about his mid/late 50's. It doesn't make that much sense if paired in the og but HEY it's fanfiction

It was Halloween tomorrow night. Brahms had experienced the celebration before and remembered distinctly being scolded by his mother for eating too much when they ever trick-or-treated. It was a festivity that brought him anxiety but fun as a child and he mourned it whenever he felt it pass over like a soft, sweeping veil. He had come to enjoy the glow of the orange pumpkins and their wide smiles, the chatter of squeaking children and tired adults. There was even a time where he also missed the rustle of candy wrappers that emitted from one, giant Halloween bag. Yet, after the accident, all he could do now was flip through the months of his old calendar, watching Halloween simply walk by. He could have gone out and blended in but not with his parents keeping such a closer eye on him.

This year was different.

The police had taken him once Greta and Malcolm had informed police of the incidents that unfolded back at Heelshire home. Brahms was found and forced through a mental institution and its horrible rehabilitation centers. He hated it, he loathed everyone and he made such a fuss that he bit nurses, kicked doctor's and nearly stabbed one pregnant patient in the eye with a scalpel out of rage. He hated it all and he, due to a series of further unfortunate events over his behavior, was brought to America in handcuffs.

It wasn't hard to recognize who was the most dangerous lunatics of this sanatorium. Brahms, himself, was one of them and he could always tell with the way people looked at him, like he was a freak of nature. It made him hide from the community, bury his face into the stiff sheets of the shitty bed they had given him. He could hear how  _quiet_ it was back in this place, how soft the footfalls were and the rattling of cuffs and their cuff-links as well as the keys that never left the belts of the guards. It was pristine, bleached white and smelled nothing like the warm and worn wood of the Heelshire mansion.

The only thing that kept his sanity was watching the man from across the hallway, the man who stood at a massive 6'8 height and said absolutely nothing, did almost nothing but look at a wall and he could hear people talking about him. 

"Yeah, that's the guy. Killed a bunch of people on Halloween after escaping the asylum."

"Loomis tried to fix him but he did nothin'."

"People say he'll get out on Halloween but I don't believe that shit. He's stuck here, right?"

The man was within his 50's or so. Perhaps younger. He couldn't tell at all from where he was but he could see the stubble around his chin going to a slow grey and long hair looking as though it was in need of being trimmed. There was nothing but apathy in his eyes, eyes that were a shocking shade of vibrant blue. His hands were thick from being such a massive creature and it was very easy to tell that the man had killed in his life. Probably more than once. Because of that there was a Doctor was absolutely obsessed with the man, to the point where Brahms had figured out the name of the tragic lunatic in a heartbeat.

Michael Myers.

Brahms, strangely, felt for the man. Perhaps it was because both of them were here because of their devastating childhoods, the way that they had all fallen apart because of an accident or an ill intention. The death of a girl, young and pretty who had a life far beyond her years.

The day before Halloween was the day hell broke loose. 

During the night before it, they had been ushered onto a bus that would take them to a different location. The sanatorium was becoming overloaded and they were forced out of their white homes and into a yellow bus that reminded him temporarily of the childhood he had once had. The leather seats had fun grooves in them, portraying their ages, the stuffing was coming out and the open plastic could stick someone's leg and the glass was clean save for handprints and forehead presses. It was filled up quickly with criminals that the boy had seen only off and on through the bars of his doors, when they had been walking through the hallways from lunch, guards in tow.

Brahms had walked up the steps, in handcuffs, and just behind him was a low hum. It was faint, raspy and it caught his attention enough for him to turn his scarred face over his shoulder. There he was, standing over his smaller frame of 6'3 with his added 5 inches that screamed dominance. The man himself didn't exude an ego but his presence in itself did for him. 

The boy stared at him for a moment before deciding to turn away, hiding his scarred face away from the other so he could sit comfortably next to a window seat. The hulking man walked past him with heavy footsteps. If they had been ever in the manor then he would be heard by everyone. Brahms could tell. His weight wasn't controlled and if he wasn't careful he could easily slip in comparison to the boy's dexterity. 

He looked out of the window, eyeing through the grime that collected around the edges of the windows. There were many guards and policemen surrounding the bus, including doctors, nurses and other professionals that kept the sanatorium running smoothly. The white of the lab coats started to give him a headache and he turned to look at the dark ground, illuminated in the colors of the bus lights that blinked orange and red. From where he was he could see the large stop sign and the small line of high ranking loony's that also boarded the yellow bus.

For a moment, his eyes closed and all he could remember, albeit briefly, was the school he had begun to go once he had been able to ride the bus without fear. 

The hiss of the doors made his eyes open and the transport bus jolted forward. 

In silence, they pulled up to the road and he had the unfortunate moment to get jostled to where his forehead smacked hard against the window. It was audible pain and he quickly moaned, holding his head in his arms and dipping down low into his own lap. In that moment, he felt like a miserable piece of a human being. He missed being at home and snatching secret playboy magazines from the mail, hiding in the walls to sculpt or to even paint with the old brushes he had borrowed from his anxious mother. He missed having followed Greta around, speaking to him and ignoring Malcolm. He missed the mansion so much. He missed his parents so much.

He sat there for a long time, to where sweat began to cling to his skin from the heat of the bus and his clothes. Brahms only moved when the entire bus jostled to the side, forcing him back against the window. 

Panic flew through his chest and he wasn't the only one, clearly, as many more of these men and few women were unable to keep their balance. In a rush of motions and a scream of tire wheels, the bus tipped over and he had the unpleasant feeling of glass shattering behind him and his world turning upside down. It was turmoil. He could hear distinct yelling up in front in comparison to the back. Had the driver hit something?

They had all landed with the bus in some form of near incoherent heap. Double-sided glass dug into his body, his cheek pressed against the cold side of the vehicle. He was awake, very much so and he immediately sat upright, chest heaving from the panic that tried to continue to build and from the sheer adrenaline that pumped. Fingers quivering and feet barely balanced, Brahms moved to stand just as he watched someone hop off, through the doors as if it was no big deal that the entire bus had tipped over like this. 

He scrambled with a whine finally coming from his lips, childish, pained and sticky in his throat, trying to claw his way over the leather seats, the ruined bodies and up through the metal doors that were pried open. 

The lights of the sanatorium were fairly far gone. The street that they were on was only illuminated by the headlights but even then the bus was off course, light sources were scarce. But God how nice it felt for his feet to kiss grass for the first time in so long. How nice it was to feel the wind ruffling his curled hair and kiss the back of his neck. It felt so good, so comforting and-

"Hey!" 

And it had to be ruined.

Brahms turned, trying to figure out where the bastard of a voice was coming from. Was he going to be reprimanded despite the accident?

He came to realize it was Myers who had gotten off the bus first. The man stood near an officer who clearly threatened to shoot him. Brahms didn't need to watch to know how this kind of thing would end up. The scenario was obvious and dangerous. With this in mind, he turned towards the outlying woods and fled with all of the might in his legs, blending in with the shadows of the trees and being hidden with the lack of moonlight. Morning would come eventually and he needed to hide from the authority while he still had the chance. 

* * *

He was so tired and hungry by the time morning was creeping through the treeline. The trek through the woods had left him spent and he could feel the ache of a headache, his drying mouth and the pain that had crawled through his body. His feet ached from all of the exercise and constant walking. The sticky sweat on the back of his neck and all along his body made him feel nasty and tired all in one. 

Brahms sat down at one of the trees, trying to stay out of sight of a single house that he had managed to find. It was a little unnerving, with all of the mannequins with missing limbs, targets on their fronts and their heads missing. Clearly, someone had target practice here and he needed to stay out of sight before he died. He couldn't die now, either. He had to see Greta one last time.

One last time.

* * *

The sound of a shotgun made him jolt awake. The gunshot was loud, causing his ears to ring and he hated every second of it. For a moment he wondered if he had gotten shot from one of the high up windows but that didn't seem to be the case. He patted himself down, fingers feeling through the fabric that the institution had given him. There was no new blood and any of it from the previous night had long since dried up. There were a few wounds but, in comparison to what it could have been, the boy called himself extremely lucky that all of his vitals were in place and the only thing he had really gotten was the severe bumps on his head.

Brahms looked around as carefully as he could crane his neck and was immediately eyeing an older woman, blond and tight-lipped. Her eyes were as sharp as steel as she began to reload the shotgun with an intensity on her face, her jaw set and the opposite of what his mother's soft face looked like. Despite her age, the woman was quite pretty but perhaps it was in her confidence. 

The gun went off again and he cringed, watching a mannequin be torn to shreds. 

Despite the scenario, he enjoyed watching her concentrated face. It reminded him of when Greta roamed about the house, unaware that he was watching. It just simply felt nice to observe what people did when he wasn't there. In a way, it was considered soothing to him as he felt knowledgeable about people when they had no idea about him. That concept made him feel safe. 

He knew he couldn't stay here. Once her back turned he quietly made his way through leaves and sprinted when he didn't think she was paying attention. A gunshot went off but he got away unscathed, heading to the nearest town. Or so he hoped. 

It wasn't too hard to find a road to walk near. Walking on it gave him anxiety about meeting others and having them see his face so he decided to hide from view. It led him to town, eventually, and he was lucky enough to slip through the suburban streets that had all of their tall hedges and snaking rose gardens that began to prick his feet. It hurt, to the point where he whined and stumbled, trying to pluck them out with his thin fingers up until he fell in between the backyard of two different families. 

Brahms laid there for a long moment, feeling miserable, sore and hungry still. It was about noon, midday, and all he could think about now was being home. He closed his eyes slowly, bringing his hands up against his chest to find comfort in at least himself, knees pulling up under his elbows. Brahms had never felt worthless but, now, he had. It felt like a hollow lump was trying to gorge its way through his chest and leave him emptier than what he already was. For the first time in a long while, he wanted to just simply cry. 

"Uh, hey."

He jolted, eyes opening and his neck snapping to where the voice was. A girl, younger than him by a long shot, was standing above him with a concerned and very wary expression. Over her shoulder was a bookbag, where he could see the slightest poking corners of the books she clearly had gathered for school. She was pretty, with bright eyes of a young girl and a face that was...somehow similar. Her head was tipped to one side, her wavy hair of mahogany brushing over her shoulders to head towards the green grass. 

"Are you okay?" She kneeled down and he cupped his hands over his face, trying to hide his scars and especially the sanatorium badge on his front. Despite it, he whispered to her, wanting someone to finally care for him even if she kept her distance.

"Hungry." A pause. "Tired..."

She seemed to understand and seemed to bite her lip. "Well, if you want, you can...borrow the shower? And I can microwave a meal for you? After that my parents will be home and I don't think they'd like you staying." 

Was she really being this nice to him? He peered up at her through his fingers, emerald eyes watching those nervous eyes and her pinched lips. 

He got up eventually and followed her inside with a limp, whining over the rose thorns in his feet. 

It took quite a bit of convincing before Brahms even remotely took a shower. Granted, all he did was strip and run water over himself, but by the time he poked out of the bathroom, toweling off with the same disgust of a wet cat, clothing had been left by the door, new and fresh. It made him smile for the first time in months and he wore them immediately. A note was stuck to the shirt, saying, 

_I'm sorry, it's all I've got. I really don't wear these anymore. You can have them for now._

Brahms, for once, felt blessed. She had even given him a cardigan that was almost too small on him but thanks to the fact he hadn't done any kind of exercise in his life, he was quite thin already and slipped into it with ease. It smelled like her; sweet, gentle and it reminded him of the babysitter that had long since left him. He didn't care if the girl was wary of him right now. It just felt nice to really be under a roof and able to wander without someone there to annoy him or threaten him. 

The microwaved meal wasn't bad, really. It wasn't his thing but he ate it, regardless, once she was out of sight. He never really did like eating in front of people, not anymore, once he started to live behind the walls to stay hidden from the face of the populace. 

By the time he was wiping his mouth with a papertowel, having chugged a glass of water, she was coming back to the kitchen. 

"So, uh... What were you doing? Back in the yard?"

Brahms glanced to her, watching those warm eyes harden with an intensity that was familiar but frightened. He realized, then, who she reminded him of but he didn't ask, nor did he answer right away. "I...ran away."

Her eyebrow raised. "From where?"

"Smith's Grove Sanatorium." Could he really lie about that? Her eyes widened and he spoke again, cutting off any complaints. "Are you related to the woman in the woods?"

She blinked, clearly taken by surprise. "W...What?"

"The woman," he began to explain, "in the woods. She's...older. Blond. Eyes like yours." Her face began to twist and he waited patiently, waiting for her response as he felt the hot burn of her eyes on his face. 

"You mean... my Grandma? Wait, hold on." She pinched her nose, seeming to be in clear thought. His head tipped to one shoulder, watching her pace around for a moment. So they were related but she seemed to think of something else. "So, if you're from Smith's Grove, then... Do you know anything about Michael Myers?"

Michael? He gave a slow nod. "He was the one who crashed the bus we were on. I saw him before I ran."

She stood there, stunned, for a long moment. Eventually her hand came up to her mouth and she turned towards the nearest phone. "Oh shit!"

Brahms wasn't sure what to do now. He was fed, hydrated and reclothed. All he missed now was his mask that hid his scarred face. In the panic of her using the phone, he pulled the cardigan around his thin frame before he slipped out of the front doors with barely a creak in the wood. If she happened to be calling the police, he wanted to be anywhere but there. He could easily make her go quiet with just two hands. But he had gradually come to like her, so he wouldn't.

It was a shame he never learned her name. 

* * *

Night fell and he could feel this strange tension. Something was on the rise in the middle of this Halloween eve. It was intense enough for the hair on the back of his neck to rise. 

He let a breath escape as he roamed, only feeling comfortable among the costumes, faked cosmetics and the fake blood that drooled over white banisters, porches and from the hanging corpses up in the gutters. It was morbid but he loved it. It reminded him of the old Heelshire manor that he had come to love with all of his heart, call home and it helped him through all of his troubles. 

Brahms was lucky, blending in almost effortlessly as he walked through crowds of teenagers with hugging clothes and children that reminded him of his own self. 

He didn't stay long within the sweet, cozy suburban area. He could see police cars rolling in along the streets, neither incognito nor all that quiet as they rolled through this little place of Haddonfield. The police was his cue to leave and he did, heading back to the woods in his bare feet and his new cardigan wrapped warmly around his shoulders against the cool, autumn weather. It wasn't great against the wind but he had already grown to love it, as it was a gift from a very pretty girl.

Night descended quickly and there were goosebumps rising up on his skin. Something was off, still. It got worse the longer he walked through the autumn forest that was slowly becoming more, and more bare by the passing day. The leaves were gorgeous, reminding him of the tops of the trees the Heelshire mansion was able to keep watch of all the time before winter. In the attic, Brahms could watch so much from there when it came to nature; lots of bird songs would be at his window, he could see the towering mountains that loomed and redirected wind around his home and he was always the first to see a storm rolling in and use it, somehow, to his advantage. 

A loud shot echoed and dirt kicked up next to his feet. Brahms squealed and immediately covered his face with his arms, looking around for the possible shooter. The woman was there again, standing on her front porch and aiming for him. He could see inside the mouth of the gun and he felt his knees go weak, but he knew better than to fear it. If he had to run, then he would run as fast as he could, wounds or no wounds. What made him lower his hands was the girl beside her, tugging on the sleeve of the shooting woman. He couldn't hear the conversation from where he was in the tree lining but he could see the realization and the gun was lowered.

"Sorry!" Her lips lost their pinch and her face relaxed. She appeared nervous, either about something else or about the fact that he might have yelled at her. In truth, how dare she shoot at him? He wasn't even in his clothes from the sanatorium! "I just...thought you were someone else."

The familiar female beside her pinched her lips, biting the lower before she spoke, her voice at a whisper and her eyes on him as she spoke. The two conversed temporarily and the gun was raised again. Brahms' eyes narrowed.

"What do you know about Michael? Where is he?"

It seemed she had a problem with the hulking man. Brahms merely shrugged. He had no idea where Michael was and even if he did why the hell would he tell these two about him? Was he why he got out in the first place?

They seemed to take it as an answer and he walked off briskly into the woods again, ignoring their conversation or their yelling from behind him. 

His pace eventually slowed and he found himself biting his thumbnail, eyes downcast and his mind wandering lazily. It, however, eventually ended when he heard a disgusting crunch of flesh. The boy lifted his head, thumb still in his mouth when he let his eyes land on something he knew he shouldn't have. 

The man before him was stepping through gore in heavy work boots, a knife collected in his hands and dyed a sweet crimson. His mechanics uniform had a name but Brahms knew better than to believe that that worn mask of latex white belonged with it. A bright blue eye, perhaps blind, looked at him from behind the mask and the two stopped in mutual silence. Nothing had yet to click for Brahms but he remembered that height, the broad shoulders, the saunter and the heavy,  _heavy_ footsteps that could bounce off tunnel walls for a solid minute. This man was after the girl that had given him clothes and, perhaps, the whole family.

If one could even call him a man.

Brahms tipped his head to the side and Michael did the same, eyes watching and sharing that same familiar, haunting gaze. A murderer in front of a murderer; a monster before a monster. There was a strange confidence again, mimicking a smell of cologne that certain men wore. It was there, subtle, but strong on the senses and sent chills up anyone's spine. Even his own. It was an exhilarating feeling and even as Michael began to brush past him, giving him a chance of life over death, the boy turned and followed after him with thin, long strides in comparison to Michael's own heavy gait. 

Emerald eyes drank in the sight of this man, eyeing the wear and tear of the mask, the mussy dark hair and the zipper in the back that was generally left alone, perhaps stuck in place. The kitchen knife was not exactly thin but it was durable for the kitchen meat. It was a weapon that could slice through rib bones with absolute ease and Brahms had an itching to try it on someone, anyone. 

Even Michael. 

He could see Michael looking at him from the corner of the masks eye. An excitement grew within him like a rose blooming in early spring and he didn't tear his gaze away. He merely slipped the cardigan sleeve over his wrist and hid his face slowly with it but didn't lose eye contact. The only time he felt compelled to look up was when the lights of the house before was coming into view, bright and ominous. 

All at once, as he realized who Michael was after, he grabbed at his sleeve with a hiss.

"No."

And Michael turned. 

There was no panic in his chest as that knife came up. Excitement crowded and bloomed as he realized he would finally be able to get close and maul this man; fight to maybe near death and seize his hands around his throat. There was a desire to be pinned by this man with a knife to his gut but he also had the wish to do the same; he wanted to straddle this man and close his hands, thin and lithe, over his throat and squeeze.

As he had predicted before, Brahms was more dexterous than Myers. The knife swung down but the boy leaped to the side, hands searching through the wet autumn leaves for anything to be of use to him. Michael was already pulling away from the spot, taking a step forward as Brahm's hands flipped over broken sticks, tiny stones and leaves of gold. Brahms took off to one side, grabbing at a tree by the bark. It cut into his fingers but it helped him push away from the knife that barely passed over his arm.

Despite it all, he could feel himself smiling with an eagerness, a bloodlust he hadn't experienced in so long.

He watched Michael pause and he could feel the eyes on him, looking over him. Tensions were beginning to rise and he became breathless, kneeling back down in the grass to look for something, anything to use against him. 

Michael stalked forward as Brahms felt something cold and slippery in his hands. Boldly, the boy turned his back to the masked man and he could hear him step forward. Brahms collected an old pipe in his hands, sturdy but broken at the bottom end. He could hold onto the top of it like a piss poor bat but that was it. So far, it would have to do as he stood up and swung around as hard as he could.

A hand, as thick as a hangman's noose, caught it.

Surprise etched itself onto his face. Michael took the chance by pulling him closer by the heavy duty grip on the pipe and kicked Brahms in the stomach. It hurt. Michael always had heavy footsteps and his kicks, plus his shoes, said something. He fell and scrambled up to his knees, an arm clutching around his stomach with spittle dripping from his mouth. His lungs ached, fighting to gather air. Footsteps came back to him and he clawed upwards, darting around a tree to hide away from the bite of the kitchen knife that chipped bark. 

Brahms pressed his back against the bark, his mind whirring wildly. 

The madman had been able to catch a full swinging pipe in his bare hands. Granted, Brahms was weaker than usual but it was still such a surprise. The boy figured that his body was much more iron against others but Myers had proven him wrong. 

The blade was stuck in the bark and Brahms took the chance to open his mouth and bite his thumb. He knew not to hold back and bit as hard as he could, feeling his teeth roll over the knuckle and bone. He could hear a sharp intake of breath and Michael let go of the weapon, trying to snap his hand back in hopes of pulling out Brahms' teeth. The boy let go and immediately settled his hands on the weapon, using all of the muscle in his body to yank out the blade. 

A twig snapped and he looked up. Hands, as thick as iron, wrapped around his throat as Michael strutted up from the other side. Fingers dug into his adam's apple and he choked, losing his grip on the blade to grapple at the fingers that held him strongly.

The man tipped his head to the side, clearly finding delight in the gasping and choking noises that was foaming out of Brahms. Thin fingers grasped lamely and he finally realized he wasn't going to be able to get them off. Instead of aiming for his throat or his fingers, Brahms felt that he knew what to do. If this would work then he might let go and, therefore, he darted his hands up and under the mask, pushing it off of his head with ease and with a quickness that could be related to the movement of a fox. In seconds he could see the scarred face before him twitch with something akin to a sneer and Brahsm retaliated, grabbing at his hair and tugging his head hard to one side.

There a crack but nothing more as the hands at his neck only somewhat lessened. 

Brahms had clearly underestimated the man before him but there was still something he could do as he slipped his fingers finally beneath those palms and began to push him away with the bone of his wrists. The opposite effect happened and he could feel fingers digging into the bones with such strength that he wondered if this was what a bear trap felt like.

His arms were hoisted up above him and he was brought off the ground, coming eye level to Michael as his shoulder sockets burned from the pull. 

A stillness enveloped the area and his chest seized, emerald eyes observing the beast of a man that had knowledge with his age and how long he had been trapped. Brahms boldly pushed his face against Michael's, their foreheads touching and a quick grin settling on his face. It dropped as the silence was broken only by heavy breathing and Michael pushed flush into him, daring him to make another move, to pull his hair, to take his nails over his face or to kick him in the chest. Even in the middle of the night, against the slightest glow of the stars, Brahms could feel his chest tightening at the sight of those damn eyes.

Compelled to be a brat, however, he pushed forward a little and did what he predicted would get him killed; he leaned forward and bit hard onto Michael's lower lip. What surprised him was that it was reciprocated and his chest stuttered.

Another silence fell and Brahms pushed forward again, this time slowly snagging his lower lip between his teeth and dragging back. Michael's mouth followed this time and in seconds Brahms began to understand how good it felt to kiss someone with rough lips. Even if there was pain marking his body and a bone crushing grip on his wrists there was something flooding through him that made him purr. 

A hand pressed against his vulnerable chest and his body twitched, as though he was trying to hide the fact that his heart was racing from eagerness. That mouth stayed on his, experimental, slow and pushing further. He gave a growl and bit at Michael's upper lip this time and was rewarded with a terribly sharp bite to his lower lip. There was a slight taste of blood when his tongue darted and ran over the spot and he knew that this was what he had wanted since Greta appeared. Now, despite the circumstances, his body called to it with an anxious sweep in his gut.

Legs wrapped around the Boogeyman's waist, dragging their hips together as Brahms pushed hungrily for more than what he had already received. A deep groan resounded like an old growl in the bottom of Michael's chest and they were finally flush with one another, to where the boy could feel the borrowed cardigan and shirt rising up above his hips a little. He rolled his hips, showing exactly what he wanted and that he could overtake the man who had clearly never been apart of sex before in his life. He would show him exactly how to feel this good through either of them, through the push and the pull of a fight.

He let his eyes close as his hips moved, his entire body weight being kept up by one hand at his wrists. He wiggled and could immediately feel another groan echoing in the bottom of the man's chest, near silent and only felt through vibrations. 

Despite the cold autumn night Brahms was entirely warm and sought it out by being provocatively close to Michael's body. He made sure to circle his hips against the front of the man's waist and encouraged a fight between them, forcing their lips to bleed before sloppy, inexperienced tongues began to encourage quiet and unforgivable moans from their bodies. He wanted more, craved more and he knew that it was just enough to where Michael responded despite his old age. Halloween night was still young so he could steal some time for the girl to get away, right?  
  
Bleeding lips pulled back from his and a bite was administered to his neck as hips rolled. The boy could feel his body arching into Michael's and his hand, a choked sigh coming out of his body. He wanted to bite, too. He wanted to bite the man before him and make him moan with neediness. Being pinned like this was intoxicating but it wasn't enough in comparison to what the boy could be doing. 

With his thoughts running wild on lust and the biting mouth tearing through the skin at his neck he was basically salivating. He began to writhe violently, shoving their hips together and grinding all the while trying to wring his hands out of Michael's grip. He could feel the fingers loosen then let go and he rejoiced in his freedom, even when his body was uncomfortably slumped against the tree, he could still manage to find his balance on his toes. 

Hands clasped back around his bleeding neck, thumbs pressing into his windpipe. He glanced up, able to distinctly see the darker hue on the man's mouth. God it looked good but it felt so painful and he immediately found his nails digging into his shoulders, trying to pull him down to bite in return. 

Michael pulled himself down and Brahms immediately bit down hard against his neck, earning a low groan. His eyes nearly rolled back as their hips found a rhythm, clearly craving as Brahms was stuck between this wall of a man and the tree that kept his back pinned. Just this would be enough for him to come close to hitting his peak but he wanted to do more, so much more and it was so hard when this man wouldn't let him up. His frustrations made him bite down harder and anywhere he could on this man's neck, an arm wrapping around those massive shoulders and digging in his nails to hold on.

Not nearly satisfied enough, he pulled back and brushed his tongue over the man's ear and he felt a tremor rake through body, so much so that he could feel those fingers loosen again. Brahms didn't miss the chance of pulling back all of his limbs and pushing against him all the way. The two tumbled and fell to the floor and Brahms took his chance. He scrambled and took to sitting between his legs, hands eagerly pulling the jumpsuit zipper down and tugging it down off of his shoulders. Michael relented easily, curious but hot-bodied as he arched his body to let it came down. 

Tender hands trailed down the toned body, Brahms admiring the way it was and how scarred it had come to be, even along the white undershirt. He licked his bleeding lips before he reached his hands slowly into the waistband. He looked up, making sure everything was fine and that he wasn't being rough. His answer was a given as fingers hooked in his hair and he whimpered in excitement before his hands shifted, diving down deeper until he found what he had wanted.

He had to be gentle. He remembered how he liked it and, therefore, if he wanted to get good then he would have to go slow and use something that he had never had before. 

Brahms, already deciding that Michael was already prepared, licked at the head. The body before him jerked and a groan echoed. The eagerness bloomed in his chest again and he immediately took to sucking carefully at the head, using his tongue to press against the hot flesh and letting his left hand move slowly, creating that godly pumping motion. His free hand dove into the slightly tight jeans and he felt what he had. 

With care of not pulling off Michael, he shifted himself to loosen the waistband before he felt his own fingers on the sensitive flesh. His whines grew and his motions hastened, wanting that sweet release that he knew so fondly of when no one was home to listen to him. Hearing Michael groan and hiss made him open his throat as much as he could and suck with a curious tongue, tasting the liquid that wasn't near as bad as what he had expected. He had never thought of himself as bisexual, much less into a man, yet here he was, thirsty for attention and giving head to a man that made his loins burn with anticipation. 

The grip increased in his hair, spurring him to move his hands faster. His own hips bucked into the sloppy mess he was making and he knew that this heat was perfect. He didn't want it to end. There was no way he wanted it to.

He pulled back to breathe and lapped once at the head before it came spilling. Brahms pulled his head back against the hand, lapping at the saliva and precum mix that surrounded his mouth before he pulled away and fell on his back, wrist moving hard in only a couple of jerks before he found himself mewling, his body writhing while his mind went on a spree of wondering how good it would be to get fucked and fuck this man. His hips bucked and his body rocked until he found himself limply laying still, whimpering in pleasure and his high gone.

Brahms recovered faster than the Michael and he immediately scurried over to where the man laid, catching sight of the eyes that drew him in and that could lock him forever in one spot. 

Michael got up slowly from the floor of the forest, leaves falling from the back of his mechanics outfit. He fit his undergarments back over himself after using his sleeve to wipe off the mess then fixed himself back up appropriately. The boy watched him walk over towards the tree and dislodge the knife with a great strength that made his shoulders roll, causing Brahms to bite his lower lip. 

Was he leaving?

He reached up and grasped at his sleeve again, making Michael turn once again. Piercing eyes looked down at his neck, as if in answer, before he picked up his mask and carried on through the woods, honing in on the home he had briefly happened to protect. 

Brahms touched his throat, realizing that there were deep, sensitive marks around his neck. A masochistic grin found way to his face and he comfortably sat on his knees, already feeling a new burn coming around. 

His anxiety was laid at ease as he realized that the Boogeyman would come back.

He would come back, unlike anyone else he had ever known. Even from the dead.

 


End file.
